On the way to Welles’, I stop at a grocery store and pick up some basic staples, then head over to her house. Outside the house, three police officers stand guard.

I pull up, and hold up my bags of groceries. I made sure to get plastic bags, so they can at least partially see what's in them. "Hello, officers! I'm a friend of Hayley's. I know she's not allowed to leave the house right now, so I thought the least I can do is bring her some supplies?" I project a little relaxation and a fair bit of trust to them.

"Well, we can't let anyone in, but we can take the supplies. Once thoroughly examined, of course."

"Of course!" I open up the bag so they can easily search through it. "But surely she's under house arrest, not solitary confinement. She's not even allowed visitors?" I project still more calm and trust.

"Not unless they've been vetted. Detective Welles hasn't been the same, since the incident," the lead officer replies, saying more than he probably should.

"I heard, it sounds awful." I focus on increasing his trust and calm. "But surely you're not saying I could be some kind of threat? Is all that really necessary?"

He falters, questioning himself. "It—it is. It is?"

I increase both his uncertainty and his trust of me. "Surely, as the officer in charge, if you say it's okay, that's good enough, right?"

"Sir? Is everything OK?" the second in command approaches, sensing something is wrong.

"I—I guess?" The lead officer sways on his feet.

I project calm and trust to him as well—of me, and of the lead officer. I give all of them an innocent smile. "Surely we can bend the rules a little just this once, right? After all, I'd hate for Hayley to go hungry because she couldn't go out to the shops."

"Th-that's… very kind?" The lead officer still seems confused, but he moves to let me through.

I smile. "Great, thank you so much!" I increase the trust of each of the three in turn, but also add in a healthy fear of punishment. "But I really wouldn't want to see anyone getting in trouble over this, so maybe we should keep this our little secret between the four of us?" I raise a finger to my lips and laugh gently. They all laugh. It's a wonderful joke! A little secret.

I walk up to the house with my bag and knock on the door, trying to suppress a smirk.

"Who's there?" The voice is familiar, definitely the attractive detective from the other night.

Hearing her voice through the door, I can guess at her location well enough to at least try to project a blend of calm and curiosity. "Hi, I'm here with some supplies for you!"

"Who is it? Has this been approved by the officers outside?" She’s sharp, but doesn’t seem to recognize my voice.

"Of course!" I say, projecting calm and trust. "They wouldn't let me near the door until they'd thoroughly vetted me."

"OK. Leave the supplies on the doorstop, and I'll pick them up." She’s still cautious; I can’t be sure if it’s because she’s in a more guarded mental state or I just don’t have a good enough bead on her.

"Oh, come on Hayley, it's me, Jenny!" Jennifer was the most common girls' name in America for over a decade, she almost certainly knows at least one. "Everybody's worried about you, let me see you so I can tell them you're okay?" I project more relaxation and trust.

She opens the door at last. "Hey! I-" Her eyes widen as she sees me, and immediately tries to slam the door in my face.

I grab the door, pushing as much calm and relaxation into her as I can. "Hayley, it's fine, you have nothing to worry about."

"It, it's you! No! G-get away!" I can feel her fighting my influence with every fiber of her being, pushing back against everything I push.

But it’s not enough. I add desire to the mix, and the lingering remnants of the desire I pushed into her before flare to life. "Shh, it's fine, Hayley. I'm not going to hurt you, and you want me to come in."

I pull the door wider, and she offers no resistance to my physical force, her hand dropping to her side. "I... want you to come in, yes..." she says, a dazed expression on her face.

"Good girl." I accompany the praise with a little burst of pleasure and increase her desire a little. "Thank you for the invite." I walk in with the bag and close the door behind us.

Her breath catches. Instinctively, she knows this is wrong, and yet, she feels strangely helpless around me. "Wh-why did you come here?"

I look her up and down openly. Even in a sweatshirt and leggings, she can’t hide her frankly spectacular bust, rich brown ringlets, or classically beautiful old-Hollywood features. "For you, obviously. I did tell you we'd meet again." I smile. "That is what you want, after all, isn't it?" I crank her desire up a bit more as I take the bags into her kitchen.

She steadies herself against the kitchen island, having followed me in there unthinkingly. "Yes, but, what you did to me... what you did at the jewelry store. That was wrong."

"Well, yes, I am a villain. But you're nonetheless happy this is happening." I give her pleasure, desire, and joy. "You've been hoping for this since we met, admit it."

She’s losing the fight within her. Already, she can't deny her attraction, even though she knows it wasn’t there when she answered the door. She should be afraid, or angry, but all she can feel is a serene calm, a happiness, a longing. "Yessss..." she agrees.

Finished putting away the groceries, I turn to her and stroke her cheek, sending thrills of pleasure and submission through her. "You're going to be my sex slave, and my eyes and ears within the investigation of my crimes, isn't that lovely?"

Staring into my eyes, she can't help but feel defeated. In love. Helpless. Mine. "No..." she whimpers, but she doesn’t really believe it.

"Shh," I say, drawing her closer for a kiss, raising her desire and pleasure as my lips meet hers. My kiss is searching, demanding, and I am ready to push pleasure into her as she responds to it.

She melts into my kiss, her growing surrender deep enough to let me feel the shape of her thoughts even if I can’t read them directly. She’s been dreaming of this, ever since the other night, trying to deny her own fantasies. It's so forbidden, incredibly dangerous, terrifying, but that's exactly what makes it so hot.

I break the kiss, looking into her eyes and increasing her desire. "When we fuck, you will become my slave, happily doing whatever I want. You'll betray the police, and anyone else I tell you to. You'll help me bring the women I desire under my power. But, I'm not going to fuck you until you beg me to."

"It feels so wrong, though!"

"I know," I reply, increasing her desire further. "I could take that feeling away, of course... But it's more fun for me to make you beg first."

Her hands ache to roam over my body. She yearns to rip her own clothes off and fuck me, here, now, forever. "Please..."

"Good girl," I reply, rewarding her with even stronger pleasure. "Now, put on some music and strip for me." I sit in one of her kitchen chairs and smile wickedly.

She waltzes over to the stereo and puts some music on, something slow, low, and seductive. She turns and blows me a kiss.

I give her an undercurrent of pleasure as she obeys, and continue slowly increasing her desire and submission as I watch.

She turns around, her back to me, and slips off her top, revealing a black sports bra that strains to contain her heavy breasts. Wearing less around me feels right to her, a feeling I barely have to encourage.

"Very nice," I say appreciatively, rewarding her with a spike of pleasure. As I watch, I quickly strip myself, and she can see I'm getting hard for her.

Her eyes fixate on my cock. I can feel her need for it, and I happily feed that need—between her tits. In her mouth. In her dripping cunt.

I crank her desire still higher. "Keep stripping, Hayley, and I will complete your enslavement."

Her bra is next to fall to the floor. She stalks over to me, straddles me, and kisses me, before moving off me again and hitching down her leggings and panties at once.

"Very, very good girl," I say, spiking her pleasure again. I pull her into my lap and kiss her hard as I stroke and tease her full breasts. "Your last chance," I tease. "Say the word and I'll let you walk away... Or surrender to me, beg me to take you, and I'll fuck you into the greatest orgasm of your life and permanent slavery."

My touch is magical, sending waves of pleasure throughout her entire being. Her rational self has long since fled my brain. "Fuck me, please Jenny... I'll do anything, anything at all! I'll be your spy. I'll be your doll. Your trojan horse!"

"As you wish." I grab her ass and pull her onto my cock, fucking up into her slick, wet cunt as I ramp up her pleasure and submission with every stroke.

"Ohhhh... oh fuck! Fuck yes! Yes!" She is riding me desperately, holding on for dear life, unable to believe how damn good it feels.

I raise her higher and higher, feeding my pleasure and her back into herself, until finally I climax, pumping her full of overwhelming pleasure alongside my cum.

"AAAAAAhhhhhh!!!!" In that moment, she can't think at all. She’s just a puppet, a toy. Mine.

Once finished, I let her slide to the floor between my feet. "Mine now," I say firmly as I reach into her brain and link her submission to a suppression of guilt. Her morality will function normally regarding everything else, but when it comes to obeying, serving, and pleasing me, nothing she does will trigger any guilt at all. It will seem perfectly normal to obey, to betray, to serve. It's her duty.

"Now, your next task is to do whatever is you can to return to duty and get assigned to the investigation of my crimes, without arousing any suspicion of yourself or of me. If anyone asks about me—meaning Jenny, my civilian identity, understand? Try to avoid the conversation and limit what you say, but if they press you can admit that we are occasional lovers. Got it?"

"Yes, Jenny. I understand..."

"Mistress," I correct. "When we are alone, or among other slaves, you will call me Mistress. The rest of the time, you may refer to me as Jenny, but you will know that I am Mistress and you are my slave."

"Mistress, yes. I apologize!" She moves off of me, and begins to tidy up her clothes.

I get cleaned up myself. "I'd better go before your guards get suspicious." I hand her a scrap of paper with the address of my bar. "Come here once you've gotten back to work and into the investigation, the owner and bartender is mine."

She nods and escorts me to the door. I wave to the guards on my way out, and return to my hideout. I have a voice in the press, and soon I’ll have an inside woman into my own investigation. The pieces are starting to come together—I have almost everything I need to truly begin my rise.